


slippin' through the cracks of your cold embrace

by ixalit



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon Compliant, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Unhappy Ending, endgame tw, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixalit/pseuds/ixalit
Summary: Bucky doesn’t know what to expect when Steve sits him down in Tony’s cabin, with a hard look in his eyes, and says they need to talk. Later, Bucky will look back and wonder why he was surprised; will kick himself for missing the signs. They were all there, he’d only needed to look. Or maybe Bucky had seen them all, had known exactly what they meant, and put his blinders on to convince himself that everything was okay. Hell, he’d even dismissed Sam’s worries, waving a hand and telling him Steve just needed time.Or, Bucky and Steve's talk before Steve gets on the platform and nopes out of the timeline.Warnings: angst, tw endgame, anti-endgame, canon ooc steve being a butthead, no happy ending, and dissociation
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	slippin' through the cracks of your cold embrace

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr gave me the prompt “You won’t miss me” and “I’m leaving…and I’m not coming back" for an angsty stucky fic. 
> 
> To this, I say: Fine. Here. Have your shitty endgame conversation. I couldn’t bring myself to write from the cretin’s POV, though. 
> 
> Based on a tumblr prompt from [this list](https://ixalit.tumblr.com/post/627891361917616128/300-words-or-less).
> 
> Huge thanks to [darter_blue](/users/darter_blue/) / [@darter-blue](https://tumblr.com/blog/darter-blue) for being a wonderful beta!

Bucky doesn’t know what to expect when Steve sits him down in Tony’s cabin, with a hard look in his eyes, and says they need to talk. Later, Bucky will look back and wonder why he was surprised; will kick himself for missing the signs. They were all there, he’d only needed to look. Or maybe Bucky had seen them all, had known exactly what they meant, and put his blinders on to convince himself that everything was okay. Hell, he’d even dismissed _Sam’s_ worries, waving a hand and telling him Steve just needed time. 

The thing is, Bucky knows the years after the Snap had not been kind to Steve. He’s heard stories of Steve becoming harder with every failed plan. How his discouragement had grown deeper, carving its home inside him and winding its vicious tendrils around his heart, extinguishing the last spark of inherent goodness that made him _Steve._

Those five years had numbed Steve. They’d chewed him up and spat him out, leaving behind a shell of the man Bucky thought he knew. Before Thanos, Steve might not have been the happiest man alive, but he'd always found a smile for Bucky. Whether he was handing Bucky coffee or listening to him recount stories of their youth for the fifteenth time, that smile made sure Bucky knew he was loved. It was a one of a kind smile, too—soft and small and private, meant just for them. 

Bucky’s been back in the real world again for almost a week now, and he hasn’t seen that smile once. Actually, he hasn’t seen _any_ of Steve’s smiles. Not the real ones, anyway. Steve’s faked it a couple of times in polite company, but there’s been no trace of the shy, warm, half-smiles Bucky’s known all his life, or the genuine, eye-crinkling grins that became Captain America’s trademark. 

Steve’s also never been this closed off from Bucky. Even during the war, when they were so far out of their depth they couldn’t see the shore; even when they were cold and miserable more often than not, Steve still managed to meet Bucky’s eyes with a look of love. He’d once said he only smiled to see Bucky’s eyes light up, but both men knew the real reason was hope. They both needed a respite from the brutality, needed to remember the little life waiting for them back in Brooklyn, and those private little moments gave them that. They could let the shouted orders and acrid smells of the camp melt away. They could live in a world of nothing but each other, daydreaming of _after._

Christ, Bucky misses that hope. And that smile. How it smoothed Steve’s face and brought light to his eyes when everything else was shrouded in darkness and death. Maybe Steve’s seen too much now for hope to be enough. Maybe they both have. 

Steve takes a slow, deep breath, sucking clean mountain air deep into his lungs and drawing out his exhale until every bit of it has left his body. He’s leaning forward in a big armchair opposite Bucky, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his clasped hands. He looks exhausted, the way his body curves inward and he doesn’t even try to hide the hopelessness on his face. 

Bucky glares at the coffee table between them, the one Steve situated them on either side of for the purpose of distance. He wants to walk over to Steve’s chair or pull Steve to the couch. Wants to comfort him and tell him they’ll get through this, like they did when they were young and Steve was sick—it’ll just take a little longer, but at least they have each other. But he doesn’t. Because _this_ Steve is unlike any other Steve he’s ever known, and this Steve has flinched every time Bucky’s reached out or told him it’ll get better. 

So the coffee table gets the brunt of Bucky’s frustration, and it’s not budging. It’s only two feet of melamine hardboard, easily stepped over or pushed aside, but it feels like a chasm separating him from Steve. Like one of Wanda’s force fields is sitting atop it, and if Bucky tries to cross the boundary, he’ll just keep getting pushed back down. 

“Spit it out, Rogers,” Bucky mumbles after what feels like an eternity of waiting for Steve to start the speech he obviously has planned. “What is it?”

“Bucky, I’m…” Steve trails off. He looks through his lashes at Bucky, but he can’t even muster enough of his old self to keep the puppy-dog eyes for more than a few seconds. With a tired sigh, he slides his eyes back to an invisible point in the middle distance, somewhere over Bucky’s left shoulder. Steve flexes his hands and clenches his jaw, steeling himself. Then he says it: “I’m leaving, Buck.”

He just… says it. Just like that, in the same flat monotone that’s jarred Bucky every time it’s come out of Steve’s mouth over the last week. Muffled by his clasped hands, but loud and crisp enough that it’s impossible to mishear in the quiet room. He says the words Bucky’s dreaded hearing his whole life. The words that, when they’d found each other in this century for the first time, Steve had promised he’d never say. 

“You’re leaving,” Bucky repeats in a whisper, more disbelief than anything. A million questions fill his mind alongside utter confusion and the beginning prickles of anger. “For how long?” he asks. If Steve’s going away, then he must be coming back, and maybe that will be enough for Bucky to hold onto. 

If it’s possible, Steve’s expression hardens further, like he’s setting himself in stone or preparing for battle. When he speaks, it’s in that same infuriatingly emotionless voice, even if it does sound a little more strained than usual. “I’m not—” Steve takes a breath. Squeezes his eyes shut while his knuckles turn his skin white, “I’m not coming back.”

“What do you mean ‘not coming back’? Of course you’re coming back. You can’t just—” Bucky breaks off. _You can’t just leave me,_ he wants to scream, _Not like this._ But, the truth is, Steve can, he always could. Bucky just never thought he _would._

Not his little punk Stevie, who always stood up for the underdog every time, without exception. Not his bigger punk Stevie, who risked everything to save him countless times from an unseen enemy in the war. Not _his_ Steve, who pulled Bucky from seventy years of brainwashing and tracked him to every corner of the globe. Not the Steve who defied direct orders and fought his best friends, just to protect Bucky. That man would never just _leave_ everything he’s built here, everyone he’s loved. 

“I’m not. At least, not for a while,” Steve says. He still won’t meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“So you’re just taking a break, then. From the Avengers. I can come with you, you know I don’t like fighting. W-we can go anywhere, won’t even have to tell people,” Bucky says, words getting faster with every thought. He knows he’s reaching for something that isn’t there. He’s grasping at straws that are slipping through his fingers just as fast, disintegrating when he touches them, and he can’t stop. The world looks completely different in so many ways, broken from the last five years, and Steve’s always been his constant, his rock. Bucky needs his rock. 

“The Avengers are gone,” Steve says under his breath, but they both know that’s not what’s important. “When I return the particles tomorrow—”

“Goddammit, Steve,” Bucky interrupts, “At least have the decency to look at me while you do this.”

Steve drags his eyes to Bucky’s face like it’s the last thing he wants to do. And maybe it is, but he’s the one who started this. He had to expect some version of this reaction. He couldn’t have really thought Bucky would be _okay_ with it, right?

Finally making eye contact, Steve picks back up where Bucky interrupted. “When I return them, I’m going back to the forties. I’ll come back, and it won’t be long for you, but I’ll be older. Hopefully happier.”

“So you’re going back to see her. To be with her.” They both know who Bucky’s talking about. 

Steve’s _“Yes”_ is almost inaudible. 

Instead of the anger Bucky expects to rise in his throat, an eerie calm settles over him, leaving his body stock still and his mind echoing. It reminds him of when he was a sharpshooter in the war, utterly attuned to his target, pushing all other distractions to the side. It’s similar, but this is darker somehow, more detached. Almost like he’s watching this happen to another person, letting it wash over him without really feeling. 

“The last five years, the people I’ve lost… I can’t stay here, Buck.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky snaps automatically, words sharp and acidic on his tongue. Part of him wants to dive across the table and shake Steve; scream, _“What about me?! I’m here!”_ and make him stay. But that would make them both miserable—Steve only staying out of guilt, always wondering what it would’ve been like if he’d left. At least this way Steve gets a shot at happiness, whatever he thinks that looks like. 

“I’m sorry. I’m—You won’t miss me. Not as much as you think you will,” Steve says. “You’ll have Sam, and I’m sure Pepper will let you stay at the cabin.” 

Steve keeps talking, but Bucky stops listening. Again, it’s as if he’s watching someone else hear the words, a part of his mind screaming while the rest of him remains perfectly motionless. Steve had said he loved him, and Bucky had taken him at his word. Steve had wormed his way under Bucky’s skin when they were kids and made a home for himself in Bucky’s heart, and now that he’s been poisoned by years of pain, Steve is poisoning that little pocket inside Bucky. And the worst part is, there’s nothing Bucky can do to stop it. 

He kind of wants to shoot Steve. Just a little, just to see if he still bleeds. 

“I assume you’ll want me to keep this to myself,” Bucky says, and swallows burning bile when he hears how similar his voice sounds to Steve’s. Neither of them is human anymore. They can’t be. Humans wouldn’t be able to talk this calmly about losing the love of their life, their soulmate.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out, and Bucky thinks maybe Steve’s eyes look a little shinier than they did a moment ago. He wonders if Steve has a screaming voice inside his head too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Any pointers and constructive criticism are welcome, and as always, kudos, comments, and shares are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> I'm on Tumblr [@ixalit](https://tumblr.com/blog/ixalit)


End file.
